Pieces of Perfect (10 page)

Nineteen
 

My date with Adam kept replaying in my mind.
 I didn’t know how to feel about it, so by 8 o’clock Friday evening, I decided that I should attempt to feel nothing.   And there was only one way to thoroughly accomplish that.  It was time to call the hyenas.  

Four phone calls, a blue skin tight dress, three inch heels, and about two hours later, I was waiting in line outside of Fire and Ice Nightclub in Old City, Philadelphia.  My friend Kaylin decided that, after five minutes, we had clearly waited long enough.  Even though I hated pretentious bitches who did what she planned to do, I still allowed her to drag me to the bouncer, flashing a smile as he unhooked the red ropes and allowed us entry, simply because we were good looking and scantily clad.

Inside the club was dark and hazy, the only light supplied by the strobes flashing from the stage. The DJ was playing music that instantly made me think of the cast of
Jersey Shore.  
It was a pretty small place, maybe 1500 square feet, with bodies packed in like sardines.
 

“Shots!’ my friend Leah yelled, though we could barely hear her over the bass.
 

We eagerly followed her to the bar, ordered five red-headed sluts and downed them with the ease of seasoned professionals. These had been a staple for many of us in college and tonight was a night for good memories. As the warmth from the alcohol filled me, I began to loosen up.
 I was incredibly thankful for my friends, who had asked no questions once I had declared that I was in desperate need of a night out.  I was also thankful for the loud music, which prevented me from explaining why I needed this escape.
 

We stayed at the bar for another round before venturing onto the dance floor.
 I nearly danced myself into oblivion with my wall of girlfriends.  Every time a man approached one of us, the wall would close, effectively shutting him out.  Tonight wasn’t about men and their mixed signals.  It was about fun.

A while later, after we were sufficiently sweaty and thirsty, Chelsea made a motion of throwing back a shot, a universal signal for “let’s hit the bar.” We ordered another round of sluts, and I felt the liquid cascade down the back of my throat, effectively beginning to erase my self-consciousness. I needed another.
 

“Bartender,” I yelled, “gonna need another round.”

He obliged with a clear look of agitation.
 It was common knowledge that bartenders hated making copious amounts of mixed drinks on a packed night.  
Oh, well.  
 

The drinks he put in front of us were immediately scooped up and downed.
 I opened my clutch to check my phone.  The time flashed 12:30.  
Christ, where had the past two and a half hours gone?
 

“I gotta pee,” I said in Amber’s ear.
 “Be right back.”
 

Amber nodded her head and turned toward the rest of the group.
 I sauntered to the back of the club where there was a bathroom with only two stalls.  Eleven women were in front of me, all swaying with inebriation and full bladders.  Or maybe I was swaying and they were still?  It was becoming hard to tell.  The alcohol was beginning to dull my senses, causing the room to shift slightly under my feet.  I was drunk.  
Mission accomplished.
 

When I finally returned to the bar twenty minutes later, my friends were not where I had left them.
 I ordered another drink and made my way onto the dance floor, hoping to find them there.  I searched through the thick crowd, but with no luck.  
Where did those bitches go?
I pulled out my cell phone, huddled against a wall, and began calling them.  I had already called Kaylin and Amber, but to no avail.  Finally, Chelsea picked up.

“Where the fuck are you guys?” I yelled angrily into the phone.  
 

”What do you mean?
 Amber said you left, so we had one more drink and did the same.”

“What?!?” I wailed, incredulous.  “I told her I was going to pee.  I didn’t say anything about leaving.  I’m still fucking here.”  I would’ve felt completely helpless had I not been so wasted.  Instead, I was pissed.

“Oh,” said Chelsea simply.  I could hear her telling the others what had happened.

“Can’t she take a cab?”  I heard one of those dirty whores ask.

“Is she fucking kidding?  A cab?  You bitches totally left me and now I’m supposed to spend a hundred dollars getting home?  Fuck you.  I hope you all get into a horrific accident and die.”
 

The last bit had not been the most mature statement I had ever made, but maturity wasn’t my prime concern right now.
 I ended the call and dropped my arms to my side, trying to decide what to do next.  There was only one person I felt I could count on enough to drive into the city at 1AM to pick me up.  I lifted my phone, found his name and called him.

“I need your help.  My asshole friends left me at Fire and Ice in the city and I have no way home.  I’m really sorry to call, but could . . .”

“Jesus Christ, some fucking friends!” he interrupted.  
My thoughts exactly.  “
I’ll be right there, Lily.  Go to the bar and wait there for me.  Stay at the bar.”  His repetition of the last statement let me know that he was fully aware that I was drunk.  
Was I slurring?

“Thanks, Samson.”

“No problem, doll.”
 

I hung up and did as I was told, though I held onto my phone, just in case Max tried to call me.
 Then,
I returned to the bar and ordered another drink.  
When in Rome.  
I swallowed the shot in one gulp and ordered another.  The bartender eyed me warily before sliding another shot in front of me.  I raised my eyebrows at him.  
What the fuck was he looking at?  Douchebag.

I left the drink on the bar, cupping my hand around it, but I didn’t lift it to my lips.  I was starting to feel a little woozy.  So I placed both arms on the bar to steady myself, my drink in one hand, my phone in the other.  I felt my phone buzz.  It was a text from Chelsea.
 

Did you find a way home?????
 

I giggled to myself as I wrote my response:

Nope.
 I was dragged into an alley, brutally raped and left for dead.  I’m currently bleeding out all over the street from the multiple stab wounds my attacker inflicted.  Make sure you watch the news tomorrow!
 

I was super morbid when I was drunk.
 Chelsea never replied.  
What a bitch.

When my phone vibrated again, I thought it was one of my other whore ex-friends, but it was Max.  
 

How ya holding up, doll?
 Should be there in ten minutes.

His concern made me smile.  Now
he
was a true friend.  Not like those other trollops.  Feeling better about my situation, I finally tilted the shot to my mouth and drained the glass.  I noticed that I was beginning to rock back and forth a bit, but I didn’t care.  Max was coming and he would make the world steady again.  
 

I’m not sure how much time passed.
 I’m actually not sure I was even still awake.  But I was brought out of my daze by a growing murmur building amidst the crowd.  
 

“Move!” was all I had to hear to know that he had arrived.
 

He made his way toward the bar, his eyes registering first relief, then annoyance at the sight of me.
 Just as he was about to reach me, a scantily clad waif stepped in his path.
 

“Hi,” she crooned.
 
 

“Hi,” Max smiled weakly, trying to get around her.
  

“I just wanted to let you know that I am a huge fan.  Can I buy you a drink?” she propositioned.  
 

“Thanks, but I’m just here to get someone,” he said, motioning to me.
 
 

 
The dirty pirate hooker turned to look at me, scowled, and turned back to Max.  “Trust me,” she said in a low, husky voice, “I’m definitely your better option.”
 

“No, you’re definitely not.
 Now move the fuck out of my way.”  Max was enraged by her comment.
 Oooh, Max angry.  This was going to be hot.

Max side-stepped around her and grabbed my elbow firmly so as not to lose his grip on me.  “Ready, doll?” he asked, already beginning to move without waiting for my response.  “And why the fuck didn’t you respond to my text?  I was worried you’d been roofied and murdered out behind the club.”  
Guess I wasn’t the only morbid one.
 

As we passed the stunned woman, her shock at Max’s words wore off and she found her voice again.
 “Fuck you, you washed up has-been.  You’re not going to talk to me that way, you fucking asshole.”  

Even though Max had me by the arm, that didn’t prevent me from jerking around violently so that I was face to face with that bitch.  It was so unfortunate that I was slurring, because it really hurt my delivery.
 

“You’re calling him a has-been?
 You just threw yourself at him not 60 seconds ago and now you’re going to act like
you’re
too good for
him
?  How is the weather in Delusionalville this time of year?”  
Ha, take that, Crypt Keeper.
 

“Whatever, skank.
 Clearly he’s into slumming, because that’s the only reason he’d choose a dumpster slut like you over me.”  

Hmmm, that was a good one.  
I was going to have to hit below the belt to win this one.  “You’re just jealous, you sloppy cunt!”  
 

With that, Max wheeled me around and stared at me, shocked.
 His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. “Did you really just say that?” he asked incredulously.  

“I’m really drunk,” was the only excuse I had.

“Let’s go, you fucking sailor, you.”

Max half supported, half carried me out of the club and into his Range Rover that was parked directly outside.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, slipping the valet some cash even though Max had clearly never given the guy his keys.  He must have pulled up out front and just left his car there.  I smiled slightly, realizing that he must have been in a tremendous hurry to get to me tonight.

He helped me into the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt for me like I was a four year old, before walking around the front of the car and climbing into the driver’s seat.  He looked at me, grinning sweetly.
 

“Doll, do me one favor?”
 

I was feeling generous in my compromised state.
 

“Anything.”
 

“Don’t puke in my car,” he said dryly, as he threw the car in drive and pulled out onto the road.
 

What a charmer.

             
                                                                     
*              *              *
 

             
I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly because I remember nothing of our trip home.  At some point, I think Max asked me my address, but I don’t remember answering.  I awoke slightly when Max lifted me from the car and carried me up the flight of stairs to my second floor apartment.  
Praise the Lord for strong men.
 

             
He told me to get my keys out of my purse.

              “Clutch,” I groaned sleepily.

              “What?” he questioned.

              “It’s not a purse, it’s a clutch.”

              “Lily, Jesus Christ, just open the damn thing and get your keys,” he exclaimed, clearly exasperated.
 

             
“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist,” I mumbled as I sloppily sifted through my clutch. “Got ‘em.”  I held them up and jingled them triumphantly.
 

             
“Okay, now how about using them?”  His amusement at drunk Lily had worn off right after I had said the “C” word.  
God, had I really said that?